


Little Red Bird

by blackash26



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Rotkäppchen | Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Discussion of Defecation, Fairy Tale Retellings, Feminist Themes, Gen, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Mild Gore, Non-Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strange Realism Unbefitting of a Fairy Tale, non-graphic cannibalism, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackash26/pseuds/blackash26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tim is Little Red Bird, Ra’s is a werewolf and there are no heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red Bird

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my take on the well known fairytale “Little Red Riding Hood”. Be warned. This is not a nice story. It is an odd combination of [pre-Grimm wives tale](http://reconstruction.eserver.org/022/cannibal/littlered.html), feminist reinterpretation, and strange realism unbefitting of a fairytale. More importantly, this fic includes disturbing themes such as non-graphic cannibalism, character death, semi-graphic attempted rape, slight gore and discussion of defecation. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Notes: [Avanalae](http://avanalae.tumblr.com/) was super awesome and beta’d this for me. Also, I highly recommend the book that inspired this story. It’s called  _Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked: Sex, Morality, And The Evolution Of A Fairy Tale_  and it can be found [here](http://www.amazon.com/Little-Red-Riding-Hood-Uncloaked/dp/0465041264).

Once upon a time, not so long ago, in a land not that different from ours, there lived a young boy who was quite clever, but who was also very lonely.

The boy lived all alone in a great big house in a small town on the edge of a forest.

You see, the boy’s parents were very wealthy merchants who had to travel far and wide in order to maintain their fortune. Thus the boy was left to care to for their home in their absence because he was very clever and his parents knew he could take care of himself.

The rest of the townsfolk were not very fond of the boy. They found him to be far too quiet and strange. The more superstitious of them whispered that he was a changeling of some sort and none of the other children in the town would play with him.

Because of this treatment the boy rarely ventured out of his home except to visit his only friend, the kind old man who lived in a wood cabin a short ways into the wood. The old man was very lonely because his children had all died very young. Of all the people in the area, he alone treated the boy well and not long after their first meeting the boy began to call the old man Grandfather.

At least once a week the boy would fill a basket with food and bring it his friend. In thanks, the old man made a black cape with wonderful red lining for the boy to wear on his walks. The boy loved the cape dearly and wore it everywhere he went. He wore it so often that he became known as Little Red Bird because the cape made him look as though he had wings.

One day, the boy packed his usual basket of food and milk for Grandfather and set out into the woods. However, at the crossroads he met a werewolf.

“Hello, little boy,” the werewolf greeted kindly as he looked the child up and down. He had been watching Little Red Bird for a long time. The boy was intelligent and very beautiful to behold; he would make a fine new werewolf – with the proper guidance, of course.

 “Hello, Sir,” the boy greeted. He was startled at being addressed, but was unafraid because no one had ever told him to be wary of strange creatures in the woods.

“Where are you going this fine day?” the werewolf asked, placing his paw-like hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Little Red Bird smiled brightly at the werewolf. “I’m taking some bread and a bottle of milk to my Grandfather,” he answered easily, delighted to talk to someone so nice.

“Ah…” the werewolf said. “What a thoughtful young child you are.” And he stood even closer to the boy, wrapping his arm the child’s shoulders. “How far are you traveling?”

The boy was not sure how to respond to the werewolf’s closeness but he did not want to appear rude to someone who was bothering to speak to him. “Not far,” Little Red Bird said. “Just a little over a mile farther on in the wood; his cabin stands under the three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below.”

The werewolf chuckled and drew the boy closer. “Ah, I know the place. Which path are you taking?” he asked, “The path of stones or the path of sand?”

“The path of sand,” Little Red Bird replied.

“Excellent choice,” the werewolf rumbled, as he pulled away from the boy. “Be careful,” he warned seriously, gently brushing the boy’s cheek with his paw. “These woods can be quite dangerous, you know.”

“I’m not afraid,” Little Red Bird said confidently to hide his confusion at the werewolf’s strange behavior.

“Of course not,” the werewolf agreed with a chuckle. “Good day, little boy,” he said as he sauntered off down the path of stones.

“Good bye, Sir,” Little Red Bird called before continuing on his way down the path of sand.

Little Red Bird walked slowly down the path, his mind wandering as it always did. He thought about the conversations that he would have with his grandfather when he arrived and he thought about his odd encounter with the werewolf. He got so lost in thought that it took him quite some time to reach his destination.

Meanwhile, the werewolf arrived at the old man’s cabin.

The werewolf was quite clever and tricked the old man into thinking he was Little Red Bird by altering his voice. The old man fought back against the werewolf, almost managing to shoot the creature with his shotgun, but the werewolf was far bigger and stronger than him and killed him with ease.

The hungry beast ripped Grandfather to shreds and ate his fill. But before he finished, he bottled some of his blood and cooked up some of his flesh and left it out on the table like a fine banquet. Then the wolf pulled on the old man’s clothes (which he had not eaten) and climbed into the Grandfather’s bed.

After some time Little Red Bird knocked on the door.

“Grandfather, it is I, Little Red Bird,” the boy greeted. “I’ve come to visit.”

“The door is open,” the werewolf said, disguising his voice. “I’m not feeling well today, little one, so I cannot get up to greet you.”

The boy hurried to open the door. He was very worried about his grandfather.

“If I had known you were ill I would have come sooner,” Little Red Bird said anxiously.

“I didn’t want to worry you, my child,” the werewolf said.

The boy looked somewhat disappointed but then remembered his gift. “Oh, Grandfather, I brought you some food to eat. I know it’s been getting hard for you to walk all the way to the town.”

“That’s very kind of you, my child,” the werewolf said. “Place it on the table and have some of the meal I left out. I was too full to finish it and hoped you would come by and help me.”

The boy obediently sat down and ate the meal set out on the table. The food tasted odd, but he did not want to be rude to his dear grandfather so he ate every bite while the werewolf watched hungrily.

After he had finished Little Red Bird noticed a few strange flecks of blood and hair on the floor. He stood up to get a closer look, but the werewolf called to him, distracting him from his curiosity.

“My child, I am cold,” said the werewolf. “Undress yourself and come lie down beside me.”

This was an odd request. But Little Red Bird would do anything for his grandfather. “Where should I put my cape?” the boy asked.

“Throw it into the fire, dear boy, you won’t be needing it anymore,” the werewolf replied.

Little Red Bird knew then that the person in his grandfather’s bed was not his grandfather. His grandfather would never tell him to destroy his most prized possession. The boy remembered the blood and hair on the floor and wondered with a sick stomach what had happened to his beloved grandfather. He became very afraid.

He did his best not to show his fear to the stranger and slowly removed his cloak. Torn between terror and grief, he gently placed the cloak on the fire and watched it catch fire.

Unsure of what else he could do the boy stalled by questioning what he should do with each and every article of clothing on his body.

Each time his question was answered the same. “Throw them into the fire, my child, you won’t be needing them anymore.”

Finally the boy stood naked before the bed and had no choice but to obey the stranger and climb under the covers.

At such close proximity the boy’s eyes widened as he recognized the stranger in his grandfather’s clothing as the werewolf he had met on the road.

“Oh G-grandfather,” Little Red Bird said as he tried to figure out what to do, “How hairy you are!”

“Ah,” said the wolf as he turned to face the boy. “The better to keep you warm, child.”

The werewolf reached out and placed one of his paw-like hands on Little Red Bird’s face.

The boy shuddered at the touch. “Oh Grandfather,” he said. “What big nails you have!”

“The better to scratch you with, child,” the werewolf said, placing his clawed hand on the boy’s chest and dragging it slowly over the boy’s skin, lower and lower.

“Oh Grandfather, what big shoulders you have!” Little Red Bird blurted out.

The werewolf chuckled and climbed atop the boy, his eyes hungry. “The better to carry you with, child,” he said.

Little Red Bird looked up at the werewolf’s looming face. “Oh G-grandfather,” he said, attempting to keep his voice steady. “W-what a big nose you have!”

The werewolf bent closer, his long nose pressed against Little Red Bird’s neck. “The better to smell you with, little one,” he cooed as his large paw-like hand crept lower.

“Grandfather!” the boy squeaked. “What big ears you have!”

The werewolf grinned widely against Little Red Bird’s neck and closed his hand tightly around his prize. “The better is hear you with, little bird,” the werewolf purred.

Little Red Bird cried out and squirmed in the werewolf’s grip, but the werewolf held fast. The boy felt sick and scared, but he did not know what to do and the longer the werewolf touched him, the harder it became to think.

“Oh, oh! G-grandfather. Ah, I. What a big mouth you have,” the boy whimpered.

“The better to eat you with, my child,” the werewolf rumbled, biting sharply at the boy’s neck even as his paw-like hands slipped even lower.

“Ah!” Little Red Bird cried as hands clawed at his backside. “Grandfather! I. I need to go to the bathroom,” the boys begged desperately, trying not to cry. “Please. Let me go. I can’t hold it.”

The werewolf snarled in annoyance and roughly bit down on the boy’s neck again before reluctantly pulling back.

“All right, but make it quick,” the werewolf said sharply, stroking the boy as he attacked a rope to the child’s foot and let him go to the bathroom.

Once Little Red Bird was in the bathroom, he shut the door and with shaking hands tied the end of the rope to the cabinet. Then he climbed out the small bathroom window and started running back to the town.

The werewolf was no fool and quickly became impatient with his prey. Without a care he burst into the bathroom only to find that the boy had escaped. With a howl the werewolf raced after the boy, but he arrived at Little Red Bird’s home just as the boy entered, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the boy entered his home he barred every door and window and then locked himself in the cellar.

Little Red Bird curled up in a corner of the dark room and began to shake as he finally let himself think about what had almost happened. He felt sick as he thought about those strange large hands all over his body, and those sharp teeth digging into his neck. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he rocked back and forth on the ground. He wrapped his arms around himself and remembered that he was still naked. He wanted to get up and get dressed but he was too afraid to move. He felt convinced the werewolf was lurking right outside the cellar door.

It was a long time before Little Red Bird could think clearly, but when he could he felt even worse. After his memories of claws and fur and teeth had subsided, all he could see was specks of blood and strands of grey hair. He knew that something had happened to his grandfather and the more he thought about the more he was convinced that his grandfather was dead. That the werewolf had killed him. Had eaten –

Little Red Bird’s eyes widened as he recalled the strange meal he had been made to eat. His stomach churned as he realized that the too thick liquid he had forced down was not wine or juice and that the strange tough meat he had consumed had not been animal flesh. He had –

His stomach rebelled. But Little Red Bird clapped his hands over his mouth and refused to let himself vomit up the meal. He had to keep Grandfather inside of him as long as he could, he thought to himself. Because as long as Grandfather’s blood and flesh sat in his stomach, he would not be alone. Once the remains of his grandfather finally left his body, Little Red Bird would be completely on his own with a terrifying werewolf still lurking at the door.

***

The next day, Little Red Bird cautiously left the cellar. No one had been in the house and all of the doors and windows were still barricaded. Feeling marginally safer, Little Red Bird took a long hot shower. When he got out of the shower he still felt dirty, still felt the werewolf’s claws on him.

The boy got dressed and hesitantly went into town. He jumped at every shadow as he walked, convinced that the werewolf was waiting just behind every corner. No one recognized him without his beloved cape, but they remembered him well enough when he began to speak.

“Please,” he said. “Please. I need help.”

“What’s wrong with you?” one of the townsfolk asked.

“I. There was a werewolf. He killed my Gr - he killed Mr. Pennyworth. The old man who lives in the woods. And he. He tried to, to eat me. Please help me.”

The townsfolk laughed at him.

“A werewolf?” someone said. “There’s no such thing.”

“That old man can take care of himself,” another said.

“Crying wolf? I don’t have time for you,” said still another. “Go home, Changeling.”

They didn’t believe him.

Little Red Bird told anyone who would listen what had happened, but the response was always the same. Finally he gave up and ran all the way home.

After that Little Red Bird stopped leaving his house altogether. He was too scared to risk it. He could always feel the werewolf’s eyes watching him whenever he stepped outside. The taste of his Grandfather’s meat haunted him day and night. He stopped eating. He stopped sleeping.

One day, not long after his encounter with the werewolf, Little Red Bird’s parents returned home. They were very angry when they saw all of their belongings piled up in front of the doors and windows. When the boy tried to explain what had happened, they accused him of telling tales for attention. They expected better of him.

Ashamed, Little Red Bird cleaned up the mess he had made. The open windows and doors made him very nervous, but he wanted his parents to be proud of him.

They soon left on another trip and even though Little Red Bird begged to be allowed to go with them he was left behind with his memories and the shadow of the werewolf.

After many months of constant fear, Little Red Bird had a dream. He dreamed of his grandfather. The old man knelt in front of the boy and put his old shotgun in the child’s hand.

When Little Red Bird woke up he went into the kitchen and picked up one of the barely used kitchen knives stored on the counter. The he went into his parents’ room and took his father’s gun from the bedside table.

Little Red Bird donned a jacket to cover up his gun and his knife and then with trembling legs he left his house. He made his way to the forest and began automatically taking the path to Grandfather’s cabin.

At the crossroads, the werewolf was waiting.

“Hello, little boy,” the werewolf greeted, his sharp white teeth gleaming in the morning light.

“H-hello, Sir,” Little Red Bird said.

“I’ve missed you,” continued the werewolf. “You left in such a hurry when we last met.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said.

“Well, I know how you can make it up to me,” the werewolf purred, stalking closer to the boy.

Little Red Bird nervously backed up until he ran into a tree and could go no farther. The werewolf placed his paw-like hands on either side of Little Red Bird’s head and leaned in until his mouth was right beside Little Red Bird’s ear. “You’ll make a fine werewolf,” the monster rumbled, his breath hot on the boy’s ear. “I – ”

Anything else the werewolf might have said was silenced by a loud bang.

The werewolf collapsed onto the boy, and Little Red Bird who did not want to appear rude, put his gun away and helped the werewolf to the ground. Little Red Bird watched with blank blue eyes as blood bubbled up from the hole in the werewolf’s heart.

The werewolf gurgled. “Clever…A f-fine…werewo…” the creature attempted to speak.

Little Red Bird ignored the words coming out of the werewolf’s mouth. Instead he took out his knife and began to skin the slowly dying werewolf. He did his work with great care and when he was finished he had a fine pelt of fur.

***

Little Red Bird moved out of his parents’ home and into his grandfather’s cabin. He made his wolf pelt into a cape and wore it in memory of his dear grandfather.

No one noticed Little Red Bird’s absence, but he didn’t mind. He disliked the townsfolk as much as Grandfather ever had.

Every day Little Red Bird practiced using his gun and his knife until he was no longer afraid.

And then every night he went out hunting for werewolves.

The End.


End file.
